


If Love Now Reigned As It Hath Been

by SoHereWeAre



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Tudor Era, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Brother/Sister Incest, Court Politics, Cousin Incest, Denial of Feelings, F/M, Family Secrets, First Kiss, First Time, Forbidden Love, Historical, Jealousy, Love, Love Confessions, Making Love, Piracy, Religious Conflict, Secrets, Sexual Frustration, Sexual Tension, Sibling Incest, Sibling Love, Slow Burn, Tags May Change, Tudor Era, Wedding Night, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-21
Updated: 2019-05-23
Packaged: 2020-03-09 11:18:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 22,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18915877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SoHereWeAre/pseuds/SoHereWeAre
Summary: Set against the backdrop of the political and religious dangers in the time of King Henry VIII of England, Robb Stark and Sansa Stark find themselves at the height of favor following Robb’s ascendance as patriarch of the Stark family and Sansa’s arranged marriage to her cousin, Jon. However, family secrets loom and loyalties are tested within the Court and at home.Warning: Contains incest.Robb and Sansa are the main pairing. Please take this in consideration before starting to read this fic.Actual historical events/people intermixed with the Game Of Thrones world.(Repost)*Marking as complete. I have no intentions of working on this. See end of fic for notes.*





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Posting all of my deleted fics, this one was requested awhile ago, as usual I am slow moving. :)

Northern England 1530

"Almost finished, M'lady. Just a few more pins. You will look so lovely. The most beautiful bride in all of England."

Sansa offered a gentle smile but did not meet the eyes of her seamstress. Instead, her gaze flitted through the sitting room's window. From here she could keep an occasional eye on the front gate of Winterfell Castle, waitng the return of her brother from Court. 

Everyone was anticipating his arrival back home after weeks away, Sansa no less than anyone else. The servants had been scurrying since the early hours to prepare a homecoming for their Lord as if he had been on a years long expedition. Robb had certaintly won over the household when he became the head of it two years ago, when the sweating sickness had swept the country and took with it Mother and Father and Bran and Rickon. Robb had been traveling with the Court at the time, and Sansa and sister Arya had been visiting Riverrun Manor where her Uncles Brynden and Edmure resided. All of them desperately wanted to travel home but it was advised as being too much of a risk. Neither of them were able to be at their loved ones' sides as they died, and it would weigh forever heavy on their hearts.

It was Robb's responsibility to carry on the family's reputable name and good fortune. He had only been eighteen at the time, married for two years to Jeyne Westerling, with a babe to show for each year wed, residing at the modest Crag Manor in western England. Robb had married into an old, noble family, but they were not wealthy. It mattered little as the Stark wealth expanded due to the loyal services they provided to the Crown. Uniting the families made sense, and even the King had given his approval for the marriage. After the deaths, Robb and his wife and two replica children moved into Winterfell. The sounds of the babes were a welcoming thing, filling the halls that were hollow from the grief. Jeyne settled into her role as Lady of Winterfell nicely, even though the servants looked more to Sansa for direction. Sansa understood why; she looked much like her Lady Mother with her slim frame and auburn red hair.

At newly seventeen she was a woman grown and past time to be wed. She would have been already a wife and mother if she had been allowed to marry when the match was first proposed, but they needed a papal dispensation. With the current climate of political and religious unrest, it took over a year to obtain it. Sansa did not mind. She had dreamed of the day where she would be married to a handsome Lord or - in her dreams - a prince, and have many beautiful babies with him. She just did not think her husband would end up being her own cousin, Lord Jon Targaryen of Dragonstone.

When Robb first proposed the match she was stunned. Of course she knew her cousin, but they were never close. He had always lived in the South. The Targaryens pledged loyalty to the crown but were an odd lot, staying in their gloomy, damp, towering castle. They shunned Court life and the King never ventured down their way in his travels and rarely called them to Court. Rhaegar and Lyanna had died from the sickness, as well as the children from Raegar's first marriage, leaving Jon in the same position as Robb. It was another reason for the cousins to bond. Robb and Jon were more like brothers than cousins, the distance no barrier to their friendship. As a child Jon used to spend summers in Winterfell. Sansa paid him no mind, concerned with more important things like on how to become a Lady and excel in courtly pastimes such as singing, lute playing, and dancing. Mother and her governess Old Nan had groomed her for a lady-in-waiting position at court, and now she found her glittering success at court turned into a faded, dreary sentence as Lady of Dragonstone.

She didn't need to ask Robb why the match was made. She knew if she protested he would withdraw it but she did not utter a word against his choice. Jon was a good man and a familiar one. The family was rich and powerful but now Jon was the only one left. He needed a wife and heirs and Sansa was young and a maiden and it was time she married. Robb had held off as long as he could and suggested a man not only a relative to the family but also one he knew would not mistreat her. 

Sansa sighed and looked down as the seamstress finished pinning her wedding dress in place. There were alterations to be made to the light buttercream colored gown before the ceremony, which was only weeks away. Sansa originally had wanted her mother's wedding gown, a red velvet dress with fitted sleeves, but Jeyne had convinced her the creamy confection she stood in was more in style with the sharp squared neckline and hanging sleeves. It was the style favored by Anne Boleyn, the King's mistress who soon would be Queen, if King Henry would just get his divorce from Queen Catherine. 

"Thank you, Shae." Her tone, always formal with the servants, rang clear. 

The seamstress helped her out of the gown and left, and she soon stood in her linen chemise, alone and shivering. It was nearly summer and quite warm but she felt cold. She felt like a silly little ninny. What did she have to be worried about? It was just Jon after all. Quiet, broody, thoughtful Jon. She knew he wasn't one to visit bawdy women and he wasn't prone to excessive drinking or acts of violence. She was confident they would make a strong marriage. Why the feeling of trepidation and dread?

The faint sound of a horn reached her ears and it was like the sweetest song. Sansa floated over to the window and opened it, leaning out, her long hair streaming down and catching the light breeze. She forgot she was only in her chemise as she saw Robb riding in on his horse with his squire, Rollam Westerling, following behind. How like her brother to make a grand entrance into his own home. She smiled, taking in the sight of him as if it had been years since she had last seen him. It indeed felt like years as she observed his confident pose on his white steed, his curly auburn hair shining underneath his feathered cap. He was stylishly attired in his dark grey riding clothes and black boots, and when he dismounted Sansa couldn't help but notice the jaunty yet graceful movements of him. It would be seconds before Jeyne greeted him, seconds before he was overwhelmed with greetings and conversation.

As if sensing her, he looked up to the window and stopped in the middle of removing his riding gloves. It was if he froze for a moment and her heart skipped. Even from the distance she could swear she saw his bright blue eyes dance as a smile formed on his full, pink lips. He was dusty and dirty from traveling but he still seemed impeccable to her. As if snapped back into clarity, he raised his hand in greeting and waved.

Enthusiastically she waved back before hastily moving her hair away from her face. It was only a moment they had, indeed, as Jeyne came flying out to fling her arms around him in greeting. He hugged her so tightly his hat fell off and Jeyne laughed. Sansa withdrew, closing the window and turning away. It wouldn't do to have Jeyne see her leaning out the window in only her chemise like some brazen hoyden.

She floated over to her previously abandoned gown. She would need her maid to help her back into it. She would rather just run around in her chemise the rest of the day, but that is not what ladies do. It didn't matter anyway. She would wear the stiffest gown in Catherine of Aragon's royal closet as long as she could spend time with Robb again. He was home, and that was all that mattered.


	2. A Lady's Gift

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've lost my chapter titles, so those will be thought of later; I just wanted to repost all I have saved first. Thanks!

It was good to be home.

The late morning turned into afternoon and the afternoon flew into early evening sooner than Robb realized, and it was a happy homecoming. He appreciated the efforts of everyone at Winterfell. It made him feel like a King himself even if he would never admit it. Truly it was a contrast to the tense, cold atmosphere at Court and he was relieved to be home once more. Jeyne felt good in his arms and he greedily soaked up the snuggles their sons Eddard and Henry provided before they were sleepily taken to bed by their governess. Arya took time from running in the woods to greet him and sup with all of them, bragging about the stag she brought down all by herself, before running off and not even awaiting on dessert. At fourteen it was quite an accomplishment, but Robb knew she needed to set aside her wild, boyish ways and become a proper lady. Still he could not bring himself to admonish her just yet. Rollam and Jory were jovial, trading stories at the table. Even Old Nan was in high spirits and offered lively conversation. Robb kept the talk light as well. There was no need to share the tempestuous and dangerous climate surrounding the Court with any of them. The less they knew, the better - and safer - they would all be.

Then there was Sansa, sitting prim and proper but her cheeks rosy with excitement, looking radiant in a dark blue gown, her auburn hair demurely flowing down her back tied back in ribbons. She looked very different from the delicately pale and wild apparition greeting him from the window, encased in a white chemise and her hair blowing every which way in the winds. He almost had forgotten she was a woman grown, a woman about to be married within a week. A marriage he arranged. The match was favorable on many levels but Robb stole glances at Sansa through their dinner, trying to picture her a married Lady of Dragonstone, with children of her own. Sansa always wanted to be a wife and mother but she also dreamed of Court life. Had the atmosphere at Court been normal, Robb would have sought out a position for Sansa as a lady-in-waiting to the Queen. There she could enjoy the pageants and revelries as well as courtly love. With her beauty and her warmth and natural talents for dancing and singing, she would have been the most sought-after maid there. Perhaps she would have even caught the King's attention, although Robb would not have been glad for that.

Cousin Jon was en route to Winterfell now and was expected within the week. The wedding was the only reason he was given leave by King Henry to escape Court. The King had been in a vile mood overall despite the outward gaiety displayed by the Boleyn faction and Robb knew it had everything to do with the Queen who refused to give way on a divorce. King Henry was determined to remove her from Court and Robb knew it was eminent. Even now she stayed in her own lodgings the majority of the time, attending to her devotions while Anne Boleyn devised masque after masque and held her own court. She was truly queen in all but name. 

There was a side to choose, and the unwise men of power were doing just that, while the more cautious group chose to serve the King and his present whims. Robb was in that category. He had no wish to lose his head or to bring the King's wrath down on his family so he stayed pragmatic in politics. Secretly he sympathized with the Queen and yet he could understand the King's obsession to have a male heir for the sake of the throne. Maybe he was too progressive in his thinking but he saw no reason why the King and Queen's daughter Mary could not be that heir, girl though she was. If reduced to desperation there was always Henry's bastard by Elizabeth Blount to legitimize. But it was not all for an heir that spurred Henry; he had fallen madly in love with the dark-haired, strong-willed Anne Boleyn, and the woman has refused to become his lover unless she was his Queen.

Uncomfortable with tiptoeing around the King, it was a welcome respite to be back home. The beauty and comfort of Winterfell was all he needed, really. He would gladly spend the rest of his days here, overseeing the castle and surrounding lands and villages and people of the countryside, declaring his loyalty to the King and avoiding political intrigue. True, there was still a great sorrow here at the loss of his parents and brothers but Jeyne and their children helped to ease that pain. The Stark legacy was assured to go on in their two sons, now possibly three. Jeyne had whispered the good news to him in private before supper; she was with child again. Robb was elated but Jeyne swore him to secrecy until Sansa and Jon were wed, not wanting to detract from the big day. So there would be a third child to add to the Stark nursery. Jeyne was hoping for another boy but Robb wished for a girl. They already had their heir and a spare and a little girl would be a sweet welcome. Robb already envisioned her, with his red hair and fair skin, laughing and dancing in the halls. He knew already they would name her Catelyn.

Presently he reached out beside him and took Jeyne's hand into his, bringing it to his lips for a moment, looking at her. She had dark circles under her eyes but she smiled. She may be a simple woman, practical and somber, but she was a good wife to him and that was all he needed to be a faithful and attentive husband. It was easy to resist the temptations a court when he knew he had a devoted family waiting for him at home; Eddard's values were firmly instilled in his son and he was no philanderer.

"You look tired, my Lady wife." Robb nodded to the servants as they cleared the plates away. She had barely touched her food. "Perhaps you should retire? I mean to head out to the stables before dark, then I will join you."

"I have not felt as well as all that as of late, dear husband." 

Impulsively he leaned over to kiss her cheek and smiled.

"I am sure you haven't." Jeyne had severe morning sickness with their boys. He couldn't resist placing a hand on her still flat stomach. "Perhaps some rest will remedy that." 

He felt eyes upon them and glanced over at Sansa who had not missed the exchange. She was staring at them, her face unreadable for a moment before she smiled prettily and focused on her near empty cup instead. Robb snatched his hand away from his wife's stomach and stood up, waiting for Jeyne to to the same and she rose slowly, looking at Sansa.

"My lady sister, if you're not feeling well, I shall make you a posset. Would you like that?"

Sansa's voice rang clear but it was almost teasing, and Robb knew she knew. Sansa was an observer and picked up on a great deal of things, unfortunately. Robb was one of the few who recognized her silent intelligence. He knew she did not care for Jeyne but Sansa was always the epitome of courtesy with her sister-in-law and Robb was grateful. He had hoped they would become close like sisters, as Sansa and Arya were worlds apart. Jeyne had the social graces and training to be a great lady and he thought Sansa could relate to that. But for some reason Sansa remained aloof but polite.

"Thank you, Sansa, but I am fine." Jeyne nodded slighty, grabbing onto Robb's arm almost possessively. "I shall retire. Welcome home, dear husband. We all have missed you."

Robb leaned in for her chaste kiss on his cheek and she was gone in a whisper. He looked over at Sansa who was still seated, her back straight and tapered fingers drumming lightly on the table. He saw in her eyes the emotions of longing and restraint. Of course. She had not a chance for a private word with him all day. From across the table he could feel the anxiety coming off of her in waves. He knew she was nervous and no doubt scared about the prospect of becoming a bride, even if it was their gentle cousin she was marrying.

"Sansa, will you walk the gardens and stables with me? I could use the sweet company." 

Sansa smiled and stood up, nearly running to his offered arm, clasping it lightly. It felt good to be near her again.

"Robb, you need not be so formal now. You're home." She squeezed his bicep. "I've been dying all day to talk to you. I hate to share my brother with everyone. I've missed you so and I cannot even express it in front of Jeyne. She doesn't like outbursts, you know."

"So my absence requires an outburst from you? Really, Sansa, it isn't as if I have been gone too long. And you've had plenty of things to occupy your time."

"You mean the wedding, do you not? There isn't much to that. Shae finished pinning the gown early this morning. I still would have preferred mother's red gown but this one is lovely, too. You should see it." 

"I will see it on your wedding day. I am sure you will make it look even more beautiful." He didn't mean for it to come out short but it did. 

They sauntered out of the back of the castle and crossed over to the cobblestone path that led to the stables. Robb could hear the whinnying of the horses and occasional bark of the dogs. Beyond the stables were the barns for livestock. Robb used the excuse of wanting to check on his horse Winter. He was a fine steed, white as snow, and named by Sansa. Her own horse was in the stall next to his, Lemoncake, a creme colored filly with a light brown mane and matching tail. Sansa never much cared for riding but she would still ride on hunts with him or just to take in scenery and talk. She preferred to walk the lush gardens. Her favorite spot to stroll to was the start of the forest where there was a large pond and a looming white barked tree with stunning red leaves. They had never seen a tree quite like it and it was the focal point of the castle's grounds.

Robb let Sansa walk into the stables first. They were alone and Sansa broke away from him to stroke at Lemoncake's muzzle before doing the same to Winter. They whickered in response to her.

"I guess you don't want to go out riding since you've traveled enough on horseback," she teased, closing her eyes as Lemoncake nudged her.

"Well, San, I wanted us to come out here for a reason."

Robb opened the stall next to Sansa's horse. It was then that the whining and whimpering could be heard. It peaked Sansa's curiosity and she left Lemoncake to peer around into the stall. There, lying cuddled together were two furry animals, one dark grey and the other light grey. Sansa moved in closer and the light grey bundle stood up to scamper towards her. It was a pup, and looked like a wolf.

"Oh!" Sansa breathed. "Oh, the darling thing!" Immediately she swept up the puppy and held it against her, while it licked the side of her face. "Robb! Where in the world did these come from?"

Robb smiled, glad to see his sister so in love already.

"Do you like her, San? She's the one I picked out just for you. She's small but delicate, the most beautiful of the litter. The other one I couldn't resist for the children. Well, for me mainly but don't tell Jeyne that."

"Like her? I love her! Thank you, Robb!" 

She leaned up and kissed him on the cheek, lingering for a moment. Her lips felt soft and warm. He looked down into her shining eyes and smiled even as he flushed.

"I thought you would like a companion in your new home, Sansa. I know soon you will have your own baby to raise, but in the meantime, this little thing could keep you busy. Maybe even keep you warm at night, judging from all that fur."

"Little thing? No, that will not do, calling her that. I think I shall call her...Lady." She hugged the loving dog again. "Lady, so fine and pretty. Oh Robb, she is perfect."

With her arms occupied, Robb didn't offer his own after he locked the stall again, his own puppy still fast asleep. They walked in silence to the gardens while the puppy cuddled and made satisfied noises, her nose buried into Sansa's neck. She giggled; the pup must have found a ticklish spot. Past the high hedges trimmed into a maize they strolled to a bench surrounded by roses, only to disregard it to sink into the grass. The ground was always so soft here, more like a bed than hardened earth. Sansa sat cross-legged, depositing the puppy in her lap. Lady proceeded to make a bed and curl into a sleeping position, making herself right at home. For the first time since he arrived home, Robb dropped all propriety and flopped onto his back, looking up at the setting sun and then turning to look at Sansa. 

"Do you think Arya is out there in the woods still?" Sansa's melodic tone seemed like sweet music in the silence. "Do you every worry about what she does and if she will come home? The past several nights she has slept in the forest."

"Arya does what she does. Everyone says I shouldn't indulge her but she is my baby sister and I cannot help it." He watched Sansa's slim hands stroke Lady's fur. "I do not think Arya will go willingly into any marriage I make for her. She is so wild, even more so after mother and father and Bran and Rickon's deaths."

"She spends too much time with that Baraetheon bastard boy, Gendry. The one that lives in the village. It is quite unseemly. People will talk and say she has no maidenhead."

"Aye, that may be true. But Arya will have her maidenhead taken on her own terms and not by a husband she does not choose. That is just Arya and I cannot control her. I am not her father and I will not force her or beat her into submission. I will try to reason with her and that is all I can do." Robb sat up, shifting uncomfortably, inches from Sansa. He did not really feel like discussing Arya's virginity.

"Ah. I suppose if I was as much a wildling as Arya I could choose a man to take my maidenhead on my own terms as well?"

She ducked her head down and refused to look at him, shoving her hair like a curtain down the side of her face. It was like a shimmering waterfall in the setting sun, the light seemingly setting her hair on fire, a contrast to her dark blue gown. His heart hammered in his chest. The past year he had not tried to think much on Sansa's arranged marriage other than it was a smart match and he knew Jon would be good to her. He had tried not to think of Sansa in their cousin's bed or her going through with the wedding night. She was the light in his life and he refused to see himself as a seller of flesh. Yet to hear her question made him feel like the owner of a bawdy house with Sansa as his most prized whore. Sansa agreed to the marriage but what choice did she really have? 

"You are a Lady, Sansa." He struggled for words. "The eldest daughter of a great House. Just as I have an obligation as the eldest male Stark, so do you as the eldest female. Now you will be a Lady of your own castle, and your sons will be heirs to the great Targaryen dynasty." It seemed so hollow and he tried to deaden his heart. "It is an ancient family. Something the Tudors are quite jealous of, with them being a new line and from bastard stock no less."

"So the King will be jealous of me? That cannot be good." It was an attempt at a joke but it fell flat as she turned her head away from him. He only saw the back on her long auburn tresses.

"If the King could see you now, the only feeling you would evoke in him is one of desire. Even if he is besotted by Anne Boleyn. Which is probably another good reason to have you married and away from Court life."

"Robb?" She sounded so far away, her words directed at the soft breeze. "Will it hurt?"

"Will what hurt, Sansa?" He saw her whole body take in a deep breath. "Will what hurt, sweetling?"

"When Jon takes my maidenhead." Her hands left the snoozing pup to dig into the grass on either side of her. "Old Nan says it will. She says to submit and it will be over quickly enough but I will have pain and I will bleed."

A thousand imaginary arrows struck his heart, knocking the wind out of him. His chest ached and his mouth went dry. He never thought to be asked such a question, not just because he was a man but because she was his sister. All along he had tried to avoid thinking upon it. He did not want Jon nor any other man to violate his sister but it was necessary in a marriage. He knew then the gravity of the situation and her fears were nothing to defer to a woman that she was not close to, such as Jeyne, or an old crone who knew nothing of a man's touch, like Old Nan. He tried forming a reply in his head first before he spoke. She decided he hesitated too long and spoke again.

"Did you hurt Jeyne on your wedding night? Did she cry? Was there blood?"

This was not seemly to talk about with a sister. God would surely strike them down for discussing it but he felt an obligation. Not just because he set this in motion but because it was Sansa. they used to share everything before he became a man and she a woman. Nothing was forbidden to talk about before she flowered. It was as if their level of intimacy was no longer acceptable once she bled and his voice deepened. Their little touches and kisses were frowned upon and their time alone was discouraged. Now with Robb as Lord of the Castle, he could say and do as he pleased when it came to his relationship with Sansa, but what he did was sell her off to the kindest bidder.

"Sansa." He was aware whatever he said she would take to heart. "I was gentle with Jeyne on our first night and all the nights thereafter. I made sure she was...ready for me. I was slow and patient. She did not cry. There was only a small spot of blood, nothing more than that."

"I've seen dogs mate. Is that how you took Jeyne?"

"No, Sansa." He hadn't even stopped to consider she had no one explaining sex to her at all. He thought perhaps Mother would have shared something with her but when she died there was no precontract of marriage with anyone. Sansa has only been around family and servants and governesses. There were a few friends from nearby houses but they were her age and no doubt just as naive as she was. She at least knew how babies were made, but no one had bothered to describe how they were made in enough detail. "Sansa, when a man and woman...make love...the man is on top of the woman while the woman lies on her back."

"Oh. So humans rut differently than animals?" She turned her head forward but refused to meet his eyes. 

He didn't want to tell her that sometimes humans liked to rut like animals so he decided on a more light tone.

"Yes. Sansa, they are different. Jon will have much more finesse than that." God, he hoped to hell so. "I promise you. He will not make you hurt if he can help it. It's one of the reasons I believe him to be worthy of you."

She said nothing, her shoulders drooping and her head hanging. Her grip on the grass loosened. His heart bled as he reached for her, smoothing her soft hair over her shoulders and leaning in to touch her chin, moving her head to face him. He was startled at the tears shining in her cerulean eyes.

"I'm frightened, Robb. So frightened."

Robb moved to clasp both hands on her cheeks.

"Sansa, I swear to you Jon will be good to you. If he is not, I swear on the love I have for you I will run him through with my sword, and I will never have you marry again."

"Then you would destroy the great Targ line," she whispered, a crooked smile on her lips. Her hands flew up to his shoulders as Lady stirred in her lap. What words he said must have reassured her somewhat to have her joking.

"King Henry might look upon me with more favor," he joked back.

"Robb! Don't even make light of that." Reaching for him by his neck she pulled him in until their foreheads were touching. Smiling, he touched his nose with hers in a gesture they shared since childhood. It was by pure mistake he was sure when she brushed her lips against his. It wasn't a kiss but it was too close for comfort and Robb pulled discreetly back to plant a small kiss on her cheek.

"Do you feel any better, sister?" her reached up to gently remove her hands from his neck and hold them as if they were glass.

In response she yanked them away to scoop Lady out of her lap and deposit her on the grass. Next thing he knew, Sansa threw herself at him, knocking him onto his back. She burrowed into him and his arms went around her waist, feeling her head on his chest.

"A little," she admitted. 

They relaxed a little into their hug. Sansa's hands reaching up into his curls, twisting her fingers there, much like she did when they were young and she would slip into his room, crying over a bad dream and wanting comforted. He didn't know if he could comfort her now over what was to come. It wasn't just the wedding night. It was Sansa leaving the home and family she loved. Leaving him.

How long they stayed cuddled like that he did not know; he only knew that the sun had set and the moonlight glimmered down instead. It was far too late for them to be out alone in the gardens. Though no one thought anything about it, Robb knew in his heart it wasn't proper and with great reluctance they broke apart. Sansa picked up Lady to cradle her in her arms as they headed back inside.

"Thank you Robb. Lady will always be the best gift ever to be given to me. I will cherish her and be reminded of you every time I feel lonely at Dragonstone."

"You are welcome, Sansa."

Robb tried to sound normal but it hurt. It hurt to think of Sansa lonely at all in that desolate, dark castle; a bright beautiful rose struggling to bloom in the night. His only hope was that Jon would prove to be the man Robb knew him to be in taking Sansa to be his wife.


	3. Chapter 3

"I do not know why you are looking so glum, sister. You are marrying our cousin Jon. He is as handsome as they come, I guess, and have you not wished to marry a handsome prince and live in some faraway castle and have dozens of babies? You are getting nearly all you wished for, besides the prince bit. A Lord is near good as a Prince, mayhap, and you already have the air of a Princess, if not the attitude."

Sansa afforded Arya a scowl through her mirror above her vanity, glancing at her sister sprawled on her stomach on Sansa's canopied bed, dangling one of Sansa's old hair ribbons over Lady, who was playfully pawing at it. She wanted to reprimand Arya and inform her she would wrinkle her fine green silk gown, but she knew Arya disregarded appreciation for the finer things in life such as pretty dresses and trinkets. She did look lovely with her hair cascading around her and a simple emerald necklace at her throat to match the jewels entwined in her hair. Her dark grey eyes were always alert and sharp but they softened while playing with the wolf pup and she smiled. Sansa realized she had grown into a lovely young woman and sighed at the thought. She always wanted Arya to be a little lady and not some wild boyish thing that ran amok in the woods and preferred breeches and swords to gowns and dancing. Now that she was showing a hint of femininity, Sansa was leaving.

Shae was finishing the final touches to her hair before she would descend the wide stairs to be joined in matrimony to Jon. Everyone had arrived the day before and Winterfell was buzzing with people and last minute preparations. She executed her role as sister to the Lord of Winterfell flawlessly and graciously, even as nervousness rose in her chest. Jon and Robb had agreed to keep the wedding small but not too small; after all, it was a Stark marrying a Targaryen, a permanent union once again of two ancient houses. Jon's parents' marriage had been a scandal back in the day, since Aunt Lyanna had been promised to another, so this time there was more cause for a celebration. Even the King was rumored to have planned on attending, but all they would see of King Henry today were the gifts he had requested especially made: two goblet chalices and a standing clock, designed by none other than Hans Holbein and hand crafted by the best talent in London. Sansa did not mind. The last time she had been in the presence of the King she had still not flowered, but she remembered being in awe of the tall, handsome, red-haired monarch, who remarked on how lovely a little girl she was and that he was happy to see another redhead at court. He had a boisterous laugh and booming voice and was still in love with his queen at the time. Now, Robb said the only time the King smiled was in Anne Boleyn's company and his temper was becoming shorter and shorter with each obstacle presenting itself in his quest for a divorce.

Perhaps it was just as well that the King and his would-be mistress were not attending.

Outside she was the epitome of grace and propriety but inside she was a mess of emotions. Her stomach had been in rows for the past week and she could barely eat. Robb had been trying to tempt her with freshly baked lemon cakes and sweetmeats but she could barely nibble on her favorite treats. It was sweet of him to hover around the kitchens, dictating which dish to cook that might tempt her appetite, but it was to no avail. What little she did eat just managed to come back up again and she felt sorry for Shae, who was regulated to chamber pot duties when Sansa wasn't able to make it to the garderobe. Try as she might she couldn't hide it from Robb, who had offered to postpone or call off the wedding. At Sansa's insistence he did neither. It was nerves, nothing more, and she would be fine once she was Lady of Dragonstone and managing her own household.

Besides, Jon had been nothing but his usual self once he arrived. Quiet, reserved, lacking social graces and ease yet still a good, honest man, he treated her no different now than any other time; with respect and something like caution. His dark grey eyes sparkled with consideration when he smiled at her and kissed her hand. His lips had felt warm and good, truth be told; they did not thrill her yet she felt calm, reassured. He had offered her his arm and they walked the gardens unattended for a short while, and he has asked her if she was truly ready to marry him and she replied with a simple yes and it seemed to satisfy him, or else he did not want to delve deeper into the assent. She reflected how handsome he truly was, his dark curly hair unfashionably long enough to be tied back and his beard clipped short. He, like Robb, shunned a courtier's outfit for simple breeches and tunic. That in itself was surprising; the Targs were well known for their ostentatious tastes in clothing. Yet that was Jon, as simple and brooding as the clothing he chose to wear. She realized she did not know Jon much at all and she was partly to blame for it. The times they had been around each other, she had always been interested in keeping company with others. To her Jon had always seemed beneath her because he lacked the skills of what Sansa viewed as a true gentleman: dancing, flattery, gestures of courtly love, and the fact that he didn't seek out her attentions. He always preferred to be in Arya's company, even though she was younger and also lacked the social graces that Sansa had prided herself on.

Even walking in the gardens he offered no romantic or flowery words in an attempt to woo her; his talk was less lover to his love and more like man to his most treasured advisor. It reminded her of Robb, except that Robb was also sweet with his words, eloquent and loving. Jon talked of politics, of the religious upheaval and possibly accepting an Ambassador position to the King and traveling to Ireland. It was odd to hear him talk in such a manner the day before his wedding. Sansa was conflicted. She was happy to know Jon, like Robb, appreciated a woman who could think for herself and show intelligence (as long as he did not as her to solve mathematical equations, she was fine), but at the same time she was a little resentful that he did not seek to sweep her off her feet with sweet words and covert kisses. He had only kissed her hands for a second time before offering his arm. She had supposed it would have been unladylike to ask him to kiss her so she refrained, wondering if this was any indication as to what their wedding night would be like.

She felt Shae pat at the remaining pearls in her flowing hair to make sure they were secured. Sansa stared at her reflection and bit her lip. Shae had made it seem as if the strings of pearls were part of her hair was they weaved down from her tiny circlet headband. Robb would appreciate it; he always loved pearls on her. Pearls are suited for the loveliest pearl of all, he would say. She had forgone the french hood that Jeyne had left her to wear. Soon enough as a married woman she would have to hide her hair under a hood and veil and she was going to enjoy this last day of freedom, and the additional defiance to the Lady of Winterfell's wishes gave Sansa a satisfied feeling. It was enough that she gave in and wore the cream colored gown with flowing sleeves, a roped pearl necklace at her throat. It truly was a intricate and ornate gown with hundreds of pearls painstakingly sewn into it, the solid colored skirt giving way to the gold paisley printed kirtle and bodice. Usually Sansa would giggle like a little girl over the beauty of it but in her heart she would have rather worn her mother's simple red gown, even though it was out of fashion.

"Don't frown, sister, it makes you look old and dour." Arya rubbed Lady's belly. "I do not think Jon will want to bed a sour woman."

"Arya!" Sansa whipped her head around, her pale cheeks pinking as Shae tried to suppress a giggle. "That is no way to talk!" 

"Hmm." Arya glanced over at Shae and grinned. Sansa was annoyed at the familiarity Arya had with all of their servants. While it was good to be kind, it was also protocol to keep the line of family and servants drawn and clear. "I am only three years younger than you, Sansa, and I could be married off next year if Robb willed it."

"I am finished, milady."

"Thank you Shae, this is just beautiful. I am glad you will be coming with me to Winterfell." It was a thanks and a dismissal and Shae curtsied, leaving the room quietly.

"I can just imagine if Robb had tried to marry you to Jon instead of me. You would run screaming for the forest, Arya."

"Would I?" Her sister scooted off the bed and Lady jumped down, gamboling over to Sansa to whine and sniff at her skirts. "I would not mind Jon too awfully much, I suppose. I hear he is very good at swordplay, at least."

"Arya!" Scandalized, Sansa reached down to place Lady on her lap.

"What? I would like to spar with him, see if he is any good." She paused when she studied Sansa's aghast expression. "You know, mock-fighting with weapons.What did you think I meant?"

It took only a split second before Arya burst out in laughter. Sansa tried to remain dignified but she could feel the blush creeping up her face. Arya had a way sometimes of making her feel inferior or downright silly at times and she could not understand it. Except maybe turnabout was fair play, considering all the torture she put her through when they were younger, calling her names and making fun of her unladylike behavior.

"Oh, sweet sister, do not worry, I don't lust after your soon-to-be husband." Arya made an attempt to smooth out her wrinkled skirt and looked almost like a proper young lady. "Jon is too grounded for my taste. I would want someone wild and free. An adventurer. Though I am curious; Jon is not a courtier's man, Sansa. He does not dance or recite poetry and really never comes out of his serious shell. I see how he treats you and it's all very polite. But you always have wanted a dream prince who is charming and exciting."

"You sound so worldly for a little girl who has not even been to court." Sansa's irritation was growing. She would not have her little sister talk to her thus.

"I am not a little girl. I am four-and-ten. I have already flowered three years past. And I have made friends with worldly people. You stay in your little circle of highborns but to truly know the world you need to seek out people who are different than you."

"This is my wedding day, Arya, and I have not a moment of time to waste on such drivel from someone who runs amok in the forest and scandalizes the Stark name by associating with riff-raff."

"If given the chance you would scandalize the Stark name readily enough," Arya shot back. "And I know it to be true." 

Her retort was so quick and bitter it took Sansa aback. She wasn't sure how to take it, or what Arya meant by it. Did she think she would turn into a messy hooligan like her sister? Be the scandal of Christendom by running off into the woods with some lowborn village boy, maybe live with a pack of wolves and fight just for fun?

"Arya, what in the world are you talking about?"

"Nothing," Arya muttered, her eyes growing dark as she turned her head away. "Nothing at all. You look lovely, Sansa. No doubt he will be enraptured by you. He already is, even if he won't admit it."

"Jon? Really? I thought it was just politeness that you told me he felt." Sansa felt realization flood her body as she observed her sister pursing her lips together. Arya was jealous. She was jealous because Sansa was going to be a great Lady married to a great Lord who was handsome and rich and kind and she was going to have beautiful children and a comfortable home life. All things Arya claimed she didn't want but perhaps all her protesting covered up her envy.

She suddenly felt empathy for her little sister and she placed Lady on the floor, intending to embrace her, when there was a brief knock at the door. Sansa called out to come and Jeyne appeared, pale and drawn in her splendid dark brown gown.

"Sansa? Everyone is in place and ready." 

Arya looked relieved as she made her way to the door, glancing back with a small smile. It was genuine and warm.

"You really do make a beautiful bride, Sansa."

Sansa smiled her thanks, watching as Arya disappeared and Jeyne stood wavering slightly. She looked ill but a smile remained steady on her lips. For a moment Sansa felt a wave of disgust tempered with envy. She knew Jeyne was with child yet again and was certain it was meant to be kept secret until after the wedding. Sansa should be appreciative that Jeyne and Robb wanted to spare her the idea of shared glory on her wedding day, but at the same time there was a slight gnawing in her stomach. Yet what was there to be jealous of? God willing, she would have a babe of her own within a year's time. She should not begrudge Jeyne her third child.

Thinking of babies made her shiver in worry. There was no need to be nervous. It was just Jon after all. For the millionth time since the marriage dispensation was granted, Sansa reassured herself that Robb had made her the best match possible and she and Jon would make a good, solid marriage. Even so, if she ran to Robb now and begged him, he would call off the wedding. But Sansa would not shame Jon, or herself, and she has had a year to waver. There would be no more hesitation. This was what she wanted. Wasn't it? Courage and confidence bolstered, she smiled brightly at her brother's wife, reaching down to give Lady one last stroke to her fur before she became Lady Sansa Targaryen of Dragonstone.

"Yes, Lady Sister, I am ready."

 

*****************************

 

An hour later, Sansa sat demurely with Jon by her side at the wedding dinner, the perfect embodiment of a blushing bride, receiving guests' praises on how lovely she looked and accepting all the well-wishing with poised grace. They were the only ones at the head table, a shorter one raised on a dais overlooking the other tables on either side of the Great Hall. The center was open for dancing as the musicians played in the above balcony - added to the original structure in her great-grandparents' time - and there were many who where taking advantage of it, including Robb and Jeyne, who were stepping to a slow tune. Sansa eyed them in envy, her silk slippers tapping in time. Jon was not a dancer and he had politely declined Sansa's request, no matter how sweetly she had asked. Even Arya had agreed to dance. She took Jon's delicate-looking steward Satin to task and Sansa was surprised to see her sister executing perfect rhythm with her partner. Perhaps some of mother's and Old Nan's teachings had rubbed off on her after all.

Sansa picked at her quail dinner. Even her lemon wedding cake remained barely touched. The imported French wine was sweet and intoxicating and Sansa drank liberally. She was used to drinking ale but the wine spread a calming warmth inside her and she liked the feeling; It was keeping her concerns at bay, for now. She clutched the fine goblet, gifted by the King, and sipped down the drink, her eyes never leaving the Lord and Lady Stark of Winterfell. She did not miss the way Robb lightly held his wife as if she were made of glass. Jeyne was almost pretty when she smiled adoringly at her husband and Sansa wondered if she would ever grow to smile at Jon that way. She glanced sideways at Jon. He looked fine today, his hair pulled back and his cream colored outfit complimenting hers. It was a break from all the dark clothing he favored and the light color did nothing for him but he was attractive enough that one could forgive the hues of his wedding attire. Besides, his clothing was the least of her concerns. She was more worried over his stiff demeanor.

Reciting vows and accepting his kiss had been her duty and she executed both with perfection. Her heart had hammered against her chest when Jon had leaned into her but then she let let out a soft sigh of disappointment when he merely brushed his dry lips against hers in a chaste kiss that may as well have not happened at all. Jon was oblivious to her disappointment and she wondered if he already regretted marrying her. He chatted with her at the table about inane things, things that mattered very little to her, and it suddenly struck her that maybe, just maybe, he was as nervous over what was to come as she was. The thought did not make her feel more kindly towards him. He was the man after all and he had the experience that she did not. She was relying on him to make the night bearable and now she did not even know if that would be possible.

The song ended and another was stuck up. This time it was a faster one and Sansa recognized it. It required quite a bit of the man lifting his partner just off the ground to swing her to the side. Jeyne shook her head at Robb and placed her hand over her stomach before walking away from the crowd. Robb looked disappointed and then glanced her way. She couldn't help but return his grin as he advanced towards her and bowed. 

"Lady Sansa Targaryen of Dragonstone, may I have this dance?"

Typical Robb. He was handsome in his dark slashed doublet with a standing collar and matching hose. His shirt has a small ruffle at the neck and he had a silver wolf pendant fastened to the first button and his hair was loose and his beard trimmed nearly to a stubble.

"Oh come off it, Robb, no need for formality." Jon laughed for the first time today. "I am sure Sansa is bored to tears sitting up here trying to keep me company while everyone has their fun."

Sansa couldn't help but jump from the table, making sure to give Jon a chaste peck on the cheek before joining her brother. Jon seemed pleased at her impulsive gesture and smiled before he continued to finish his dinner.

Robb didn't hesitate to take her in his arms. She laughed softly in delight while he executed his moves in time with hers. His hands on her waist lifted her with ease as if she were a feather and she felt as if she were coming back alive again. They always danced well together and it was a favorite pastime of theirs. Even as children they learned the more difficult adult dances, spending hours on perfecting their skill. Everyone always remarked on what a lovely dancing pair they made with their matching auburn hair and blue eyes.

"What of Jeyne?" She asked, a little breathless. It was indeed a hard dance. Hard but fun and she could tell by the sparkle in his eyes that Robb thought so, too. His eyes never left hers as they danced. "Did she not want to dance any longer with her husband?"

"You know what of Jeyne." He twirled her around. "She does not feel well enough for the harder dances and she has retired for the evening. Too much excitement has worn her out."

"Aye, I am sure it is the excitement." She didn't know why she brought up Jeyne. She had little time to spend with Robb since Jon's arrival, and now it hit her that on the morrow she would be leaving with Jon for Dragonstone. She didn't want her last hours to be spent talking about a woman she never really cared for in the first place. Changing the subject was easy to do.

"Why are you looking at me like that? Like you have never seen your sister in a wedding gown before?" She was teasing him, seeking out a compliment.

"You look beautiful, Sansa. Breathtaking." He clasped her to him, entirely too close for what the dance demanded. She did not pull away. She needed to feel close to him. "Like an angel given by God to grace our lives."

"Blasphemy! Comparing your sister to a heavenly being! But so sweet and flattering." Some of the color was coming back into her cheeks; she could feel it. "Take care now so you do not muss my gown." 

"Or your hair." He touched the tendrils woven in pearls before they clasped hands together high in the air before bringing them down to her side, perfecting the ending dance move. "Those pearls look as delicate as you."

They were both a little breathless now and Sansa felt a heat creeping up her thighs. It was always this way when she danced a lively number. It was the music and the steps that moved her, excited her, made her yearn for something more but what it was she did not know. Looking at Robb, she knew he was feeling the same way.

Sansa meant to say something as the dance ended but her words died as a tiny yippings filled the hall. Still holding Robb's hand close, she turned to see Lady scampering over, with Robb's wolf hybrid that he named Grey Wind in tow. She was amazed at how much they had seemingly grown in just a week's time. It didn't seem possible that they were bigger already but they were still adorably young. Guests around them chuckled approvingly. Sansa scooped Lady up after reluctantly letting go of Robb's hand, and Robb grabbed up Grey Wind. Shae soon appeared. She was breathless.

"I am sorry. I was trying to keep them away from the Hall. They like to run from me and they are too fast for being such little things."

"It is fine, Shae. Robb and I will take care of them." She gestured to Robb and they made their way over to Jon, who was talking to Edmure and Bryden. Sansa heard the name William Tyndale before they abruptly broke off the conversation.

"I see my lady wife and my good cousin have their hands full." Jon smiled. "I trust Lady will find other company tonight so I might have my wife to myself?"

The jest took Sansa by surprise as well as Robb but Edmure and Brynden chuckled. Sansa blushed as she was not sure how to respond. 

"Sansa and I will take them up to her room for the night." Robb hesitated added a bit unevenly. "At least, I am assuming you will be staying in your guest bedroom?"

"Of course we are. The rooms are already prepared."

"Yes, the servants made sure everything was perfect. Fresh linens and plenty of tapers."

Panic started to rise in her. Panic and shame. They were sitting and standing around talking about bedding arrangements as if it was an every day occurrence. Even Robb. This was going to be her first private, intimate night with her new husband; her first time letting a man inside her body - her cousin, no less - and they were talking like it was nothing. Decorum and formality left her as she clutched Lady to her and bolted from the Hall, out into the corridor and down the long stretch to the back stairwell. Lady felt warm and reassuring under her grip even as she whined against the bouncing. She couldn't stop the tears from sprouting in her eyes as she made her way to her room. Shae was nowhere in sight and she set Lady down before flinging herself on the bed but she refused to let any tears fall. She didn't care if her gown was mussed now. She didn't even care if the guests were scandalized by her sudden departure from the supper and festivities or that Jon was without his wife.

"Sansa?"

Robb's voice floated over to her and it was full of concern. Grey Wind was dispatched to the floor and he ran over to playfully attack his sister as Sansa looked up at him, sitting up on her bed. His face was sad, pleading.

"Please just go away, Robb." She didn't really mean it. Never in their lives had she ever wanted to send him away. He knew she didn't mean it either as he sauntered over to sit next to her on the bed, smoothing down her hair. It was a gentle action and for some reason it made her want to cry all the harder. But she refused.

"I told Jon you weren't feeling well when we danced." He sighed heavily. "It will give you some time alone here for now and most likely Jon will be giving you a ...reprieve for tonight." He didn't meet her eyes on that, opting to concentrate on the gamboling pups.

"Thank you," she muttered. She reached up to dislodge her headband but struggled with the strands of pearls that where tangled now in her long hair. Robb deftly worked his hands into her hair to help,still refusing to meet her eyes. His touch soothed her and she recalled all the times he would brush her hair to help her fall asleep. It was instant lethargy to her and she loved it and wondered if Jon would brush her hair if she asked him, even though she knew it would never be the same.

"Sansa, do you regret marrying Jon? Up until you said your vows I could have stopped it. I would have stopped it and let you marry elsewhere. Or maybe even not at all."

"Not at all?" Incredulously she stared at him as he finished removing the pearls. "Was that ever an option?"

"Sansa, you always went on about how you wanted a prince or lord for a husband, how you were meant to be a Lady of your own house, and you dreamed of filling a nursery full of children. You are the eldest Stark daughter and... just like me we do have obligations to fill. Jeyne was not of my choice, either, but we have made a good marriage. Yet if you had protested I would have relented. I cannot say no to you and you should know that by now." 

His eyes finally met hers. For once she could not read what was behind them and both unnerved her and made her want to weep. For the first two years of his marriage she saw so little of him. Then when he returned she had to share him with his wife and children at a time of grief and loss. Now she would see him perhaps a few times a year. She hurt. Why had she not thought of this before?

"If I said no, I could have stayed here with you," she said softly. "If not for Jeyne, I would have said no."

"What does Jeyne have to do with your choices?"

Sansa said nothing. The wine had settled in the pit of her stomach and she had consumed too much of it on a nearly-empty stomach. She was feeling the effects of it now.

"Sansa?" Robb ducked his head down, his eyebrows raised in questioning as his hand pusher her hair back over her shoulder. She stared at his full, dark pink lips that curled into a slight smile. "Will you answer me?"

Suddenly she turned to him and cupped his face into her hands, and before she quite knew what she was about, she pressed her lips to his. It caught him off guard and she felt him move back but she was determined and pushed against him harder, parting her lips. It was a silent plea, a begging, for what she wasn't sure. All she knew was that he parted his lips against hers as well, opening his softness and hardness and she felt the smooth dampness. It was nothing like Jon's dry peck as Robb gave in to her and she felt the wine coursing through her body to between her legs as he guided her in such a sweet sensation. She never imagined the mere touching of lips could quicken her heart but it did. She moved easily with him and she gasped into his mouth as he took over for her. The slow shock gave way to a faster, more demanding kiss that still held tenderness and she followed his lead. Not sure where her tongue was meant to go, she tentatively extended it into Robb's mouth and it seemed like a good thing to do when his met hers in a light, sensuous lick before circling. Warm, wet, that was what it felt like, in her mouth and oddly it instantly felt the same between her legs.

She squeezed her thighs together under her gown, not understanding fully what was happening but enjoying it all the same. Robb paused only to tenderly kiss her again and again, his hands reaching out to caress her face as she heard him moan softly into her mouth. It was beautiful and sweet and a foreign music to her ears. It sent shivers down her back, but when she moved her hands down to his neck to bring his body closer into her, he broke this kissing and wrenched away from her. 

"Sansa." Breathless, he swallowed. "Sansa, I -"

He was horrified, she saw it in his face. His handsome face was crumpling into an expression she had never seen before. Still in awe of the pleasure her body received from the kiss she stumbled off the bed, stricken with panic again, but this time it was different. It was a fear of wondering if what she just did would change or destroy their closeness. It would be on her head if things went asunder and she could not bear it. It was folly to make him kiss her. She knew it was wrong and a sin in the eyes of God. Even more of a sin as she was a married woman now. 

"This will never happen again, Robb." Her voice was shaking. "I promise you. I am sorry. The wine - I've never had so much wine before -"

"Sansa -"

She could not bear it.

Turning, she sprinted out of her room and down the stairs, pausing to collect herself and form a sweet smile on her face before strolling into the Great Hall, where Jon rose in greeting. She walked towards her husband and thanked him when he inquired about her health. She was fine, she told him, just a little lightheaded from too much wine.

Too much wine, that was all it was. Too much wine.


	4. Chapter 4

Low-lit tapers flickered lazily as Sansa watched the flames dance from the soft breeze Jon's breeches made when flung over the dressing panel in the corner of the room. It was calming to focus her gaze on the pale cream light, which cast a dreamy glow on the bedroom in soft tones. The room itself was beautifully decorated with filmy damask drapings and ornate furnishings to compliment the four-poster bed. The fireplace remained dark as it was far too warm for fires, even as Sansa shivered lying under her plush coverings and silken sheets.

The drinking and dancing and revelries were long done, leaving the entire castle in a stillness that Sansa found unbearable. Everyone had retired to their rooms after the hearty celebrations had died down. Jon hesitantly offered his arm to escort her to their own room but Sansa barely felt him, even as she clutched on for dear life, smiling gaily at guests and bidding goodnight as if it was just like any other night that she was retiring. Maybe it was easier to be outwardly calm since Robb had not reappeared after the incident in her room. He had sent Shae in to send his well-wishes to the bride and groom but that he decided to retire early to tend to his ailing wife. Sansa had cringed knowing full well Jeyne was not the reason he did not return. She wouldn't have returned either but a missing bride would raise questions and embarrass Jon. Her husband.

Jon. Yes, he was her husband now. She was his wife. 

Now it was just the two of them behind a closed door and soon they would share the bed. She had never shared a bed with a man before. Well, when she and Robb were young, she used to sneak into his room to cuddle up next to him for comfort and fall asleep. That stopped when they grew older and Mother admonished them, saying it was unseemly now for them to be found thus. Yet there were times when Bran and Rickon would climb into bed with her and snuggle and Mother said not a word about that. 

Her chest twinged thinking of Bran and Rickon. It was still so fresh in her heart, the hurt and pain of losing them and mother and father, and not being able to say goodbye. Even though Robb and Jeyne's little ones warmed the castle with their baby laughs and adorable ways, the ghosts of her family still lingered sorrowfully in the shadows. She thought of them at the wedding celebration. The boys would have had so much fun. No doubt little Rickon would have squealed in delight to dance with her and he would be fascinated with her beautiful dress. He always called her 'pretty perfect princess' and she was sure she would have looked like one to him tonight. She was thankful, though, to be out of that pearled contraption. It seemed to be suffocating her whole body the entire time she wore it and she once again wished she had chosen her mother's gown.

Sansa glanced over to the open closet where her wedding dress had been hung with care by Shae after she had changed. Guiltily her eyes flitted to the garment next to her bridal formal wear: a light blue silk nightgown glistening with tiny sparkled embroidery. It was loose with long flowing sleeves and laced in the front with delicate gold ties. Her wedding night nightgown. Shae had moved to draw it out after she loosened her corset but Sansa shook her head and had asked her to fetch her simple white cotton shift from her room. Her intricate wedding dress had been enough for her and she wanted to remain calm in something simple. Her familiar sleeping shift made her more comfortable. Also maybe she did it as to not incite too much lust from Jon. She blamed Arya for that fear. Before leaving the Great Hall, Arya had pulled her aside and wished her luck and hoped she would still be able to walk the next morning; rumor had it Jon was as big as a horse and just as vigorous. Sansa had scoffed at her sister and walked away but she was shaken. Even if Arya was teasing, it was a bad jape at her expense.

Shivering, she scooted up to lounge against the pillows surrounding her as Jon emerged in his cream colored nightshirt. His dark hair framed his face, free from the tie. He was a handsome man with his short, trimmed beard and dark eyes and slim but muscled build. A small nervous smile graced his face as he walked toward her, stopping at the table where a jug of strong sweet malmsey waited with two cups and a small plate of fruit and breads. She thought he meant to pour a drink but he gestured instead and she shook her head in response. She already had more than enough wine and it had made her stupid.

 _Robb_.

"Sansa, if you are still not feeling well, or you are too tired, I will not reproach you for not... consummating our marriage." His soulful eyes met hers and she swallowed audibly . He was giving her a choice. It was kind and thoughtful and she knew she could trust him. Arya was just trying to scare her.

"I - I am fine, Jon." She was surprised at how natural her voice sounded. " We are properly wed now." To try to emphasize her words she scooted over and drew the blankets back, creating a space for him to crawl into. He did, almost gratefully, pulling the covers up around his waist as he laid down, turning to look at her.

"Sansa. I know I haven't been able to visit you very often this past year. I keep thinking maybe this would be easier if I courted you -"

"Men and women have been wedded and bedded with less familiarity than you and I. Strangers have had to bed. You are my cousin and I know you, Jon." 

"Aye, that is true. I just want you to be certain - "

"Jon." She found she didn't mind his presence in the bed. He was not intimidating and she could feel warmth floating off of him. "If I waited until I was certain then there would never be a Targaryen heir. This is my duty. Our duty."

" I would hope you will see it as more than a duty, Sansa." He sighed and ran his slim fingers through his hair. "Do you regret marrying me?"

Sansa cast her eyes down and gripped the sheets. They have been married mere hours and he was already asking her if she had regrets. What could she say? It was her lot in life to have a husband and bear his children. To be the Lady of a castle. It was all she had wanted and Jon was a good man.

He was a decent man. 

How would he react if he knew how she kissed Robb in her room? 

She tried not to think on it. God would strike her dead if she thought about it in any way other than horror. Yet she could not push the image out of her mind no more than she could banish the feel of full, beautiful lips against hers. Perhaps Jon could help. Maybe he could kiss away Robb.

"No. Of course not." Her stomach tightened when he reached for her hand and squeezed it gently. "I agreed to this."

"You know, I watched you dancing with Robb." She turned her head to look at him, startled at his words, but there was no accusatory tone and he smiled a little. "I was thinking of how proud I am that you are my wife. Maybe you can even teach me to dance."

"I would like to teach you." Her eyes dropped again but this time to his chest. It was odd to see no hair peeking out from his nightshirt. His chest was as smooth as his hands. She wished he had hair to curl her fingers into.

"You know we could just lie here and talk, Sansa."

"Yes, we could." It came out as a sigh. It was tempting to feign illness or fatigue and agree to just lie next to him and talk. Yet she realized she did not want to prolong the inevitable. Sooner or later they would have have consummate the marriage and maybe it was best to just be done with it. Perhaps on this night she would even conceive their child. It was not unheard of, after all. Mother guessed Robb happened on her and Father's wedding night. Jeyne bore a child nine months after her wedding to Robb. She smiled a little. Within the year she could have a babe of her own in her arms. Surely that would make her happy and Jon as well. 

"Is that a small smile I see?" Jon leaned into her a little to nudge her shoulder with his. It was a familiar gesture and she inadvertently leaned into him. He must have took it as a sign of encouragement because he twisted to lie facing her, propping his head up on his right hand, elbow sinking into the mattress. "You smiles have always been so pretty, Sansa. Every time we would visit Winterfell you had a smile waiting for us."

Sansa didn't know what to say to that because nervousness set in when Jon's left hand reached out to touch her cheek and smooth her hair away from her face. It was gentle and kind but there was meaning behind it, meaning in the form of a kiss as he leaned in to brush up against where he had his hand before touching her lips with his. She tried to respond but stiffened instead. She knew Jon felt it as he moved his lips away but still caressed her cheek. 

"It's all right, Sansa." His voice was laced with patience. "You're never been kissed this way before, have you?"

"Once," she whispered before swallowing nervously. "And it didn't feel like this."

She was honest and it made Jon smile for all the wrong reasons because of course he didn't know what she truly meant. His mouth was thoughtful, smaller, and she was sure he had his fair share of kissing, so when he leaned in to try again she bolstered her determination and consciously softened her body and reciprocated while closing her eyes. It was easier this way. Her sight was shrouded in darkness as she relaxed, reaching up to run trembling fingers through soft curls and hook there. _She wanted to do this, to feel his waves in an entirely different way. She had always loved to muss his perfect hair and pull him close for hugs. It was different, so different when she sat on her bed and kissed him. The warmth had spread over her as well as pleasure. It had coursed through her whole body and reached the center of her and made her damp between her legs. His full lips were nothing new. How many little brotherly pecks had he given her since they were children? But that was - oh. It was the wine. The wine had made her take a woman's pleasure in her brother's kiss and she had loved it. She had wanted more. She had moved to bring his body to hers and he had wrenched away in disgust. It had been a sin. And she had loved it_.

"Sansa." Her spoken name pulled her into the present. "I will ask again if you are sure?"

"Shhh." Her arms wrapped around his neck. "Yes."

Sanas kept her eyes closed as she pulled him over and on top of her. She felt the covers being pushed down and away and a hairy, bare leg bumped in between hers as his hands left her face to brace himself over her without bearing his weight down. There was no hesitation here as she felt kisses covering not just her mouth, but her cheeks and neck, down to the cloth of her chemise. _If he had no conscience, no sense of wrong and damnation, would he have kissed her neck? Would he have unlaced her gown and let her experience the sensation of his mouth on her skin like this_? She felt hot breath on her breasts through the fabric and gasped when a mouth found each of her nipples. Was this why Robb had stopped? To not do this? What would she have _let_ him do?

"Jon." It came out with harsh affirmation. She needed to concentrate. To get through this. Somewhere beyond her thoughts she felt fingers unlacing the front of her chemise and she snapped back in reality. "Please. Leave it on. Please."

In response her chemise was moved up from the bottom to around her waist, exposing herself to the air and to her husband. She wore no underthings and she heard a low moan. _Robb had moaned against her lips_. Modesty begged her to snap her legs closed but instinct and reasoning overcame the shyness as she moved them apart. Squeezing her eyes tight she braced herself to take him inside of her. He made no move to lift his nightshirt but instead she felt a hand skimming down her body to touch her mound softly before prodding her opening. Whatever he was looking for it must not have satisfied him as she felt fingertips rubbing her. Up against her. Shock jolted though her body and she tensed again. This didn't feel right. Was it supposed to feel like she emitted dampness? Because she wasn't. His fingers felt dry on her folds. 

"Sansa." He collapsed a little into her and she felt his hardness then. She knew very little about making love but she knew a man had to be hard before he inserted himself. Like the dogs she would see mating. The male's thing always grew before he mounted the female. Before the poor female was rutted. _Sansa, they are different. Jon will have much more finesse than that I promise you. He will not make you hurt if he can help it. It's one of the reasons I believe him to be worthy of you_. Yes. Jon would make it different. If not she would have Robb run him through with his sword. No, she would not do that -

"Sansa, I brought some oils with me." Jon's voice was now thick with his own desire. "It will help. It will make it easier to - to - enter you. I - I have not lain with a virgin before. I know it may hurt. I don't want to hurt you -"

Weakly she nodded, disappointed he would accept defeat so easily. He left the bed to rummage around and Sansa not once opened her eyes and she did not pull her shift back down, no matter how she was tempted to do so. Perhaps covering up her cunny would make her lose her nerve. Instead she flung her arms over her eyes as she heard him uncork a bottle. Moments passed and the bed dipped as Jon crawled to his previous position above her. She flung her arms around his neck again to pull him down for a kiss and felt him completely naked against her. Opening one eye she peeked down between his legs. His maleness was sticking upwards and glistened in the candlelight, poking out from a thatch of dark curls. It wasn't as odd or as intimidating as she imagined and she relaxed a little. That is, until Jon reached down with a wet, dripping finger to slowly massage a nub down there before entering her. She gasped in shock. It stung her and felt wrong when he moved it back and forth, so slow but so foreign to her. She had never had anything inside of her before.

Jon hissed as she dug her nails into his neck.

"Sorry. I am sorry." Sheepishly she retracted her fingers and threaded them through his hair instead.

"Don't apologize for that, Sansa. If I am hurting you then you need to let me know. I -"

"Please Jon. Just...please just go ahead. I'm ready." She wasn't. She never truly would be for this first time. But she was a wife now and this was what a wife did with her husband. She wanted children and knew of no other way to produce them...

Jon leaned down to kiss her and brush her hair back from her face. She opened both eyes to look up into his dark, serious ones. He managed a smile as he reached back with one arm to touch her leg.

"Wrap your legs around me, Sansa. Please try to relax. I'll go slow -"

She did as she was told as he pushed her shift further up before reaching to grasp himself to position right at her opening. She felt the tip, slippery and warm nudging into her entrance, before Jon gently pushed all the way in. She tried to relax but whimpered. It hurt and felt like fire and she couldn't help but cry out, pulling his hair. He groaned and gritted his teeth as if he tried to hold in his obvious pleasure as to not offend her while she was hurting. Of course he liked it. No one was sticking anything inside of him, were they? 

_Robb. Robb, you lied to me_. This did hurt. She did have tears in her eyes. She wished she could go back, back to her room, back to Robb. Back to his kisses that felt like honey and made her ache between her legs. Ache in a good way, yearning for something else that she knew was not this.

Wasn't he supposed to move? He was as still as a marble statue as she released his curls and grappled for his shoulders instead. She was aware of tears trickling out of her eyes and was ashamed. Gently Jon kissed away the salty streaks from her temples. 

"I am still able to stop." 

"No." She feared him pulling out. "No, Jon. Please. Move." Instinctively she thrust her hips up and it placed him deeper inside. She bit her lip at that but did not cringe. "Please."

It was all the encouragement he needed as he moved, slow and cautious at first. Sansa wanted to scream in pain and embarrassment but swallowed it down, spurring him on by snapping her hips. He seemed to like that. The more she could incite his lust then perhaps the sooner he could spend and be done. He was pushing her into the mattress, trying to temper his strokes but she would have none of it. She dug her feet into his arse and lifted her body into him and he moved faster at that, his breathing heavy. His head leaned into her and she brought him closer, clinging to his shoulders, her head coming off the pillow to sink teeth into his neck. That must have been something to tip him over the edge as she felt him tighten and pulse into her. She felt like screaming but bit her lip so hard she tasted rust as he collapsed against her, panting.

"Sansa. Sansa, are you all right?" He lifted up to look at her, now with abject concern. "Was it - was it all right?"

"Yes," she lied. "Yes, Jon." If God was to strike her dead for lying it would be now of all times. Lying about it being all right. Lying to herself. Lying, lying, lying about something as simple as a few stolen kisses. She was the worst kind of sinner. Thinking of her brother while in her marriage bed. Jon had tried to make this as best as it could be and she did not deserve him. She was not worthy to be Lady Targaryen of Dragonstone. 

Jon pulled out from her as slowly as he could manage and when she unwrapped her legs she felt something sticky seeping down between her thighs onto the sheets. She knew it was his seed. So much was leaking out. How could she conceive if it all ended up on the sheets? She crossed her legs and clenched internally.

"Jon?" He had moved off the bed, looking around for something. "Jon, why is your seed running out?"

It seemed to break the tension in Jon as shrugged his nightshirt back on, his back toward her. She could see he was wiping his cock off with a cloth. He had two fresh ones he brought to the bed as he smiled.

"Lift your arse up, Sansa." She obeyed and he slipped a rag underneath her. With the other dampened cloth he began to gently wipe between her legs. Ashamed, she turned away but let him do as he would. "Your body is not meant to take all of my seed. Some will leave you every time. Having...relations is rather messy, I'm afraid."

"Oh. Thank you." It was all she could manage to say. He folded the used cloth in half but not before she could see the slight blood on it. She said nothing but cringed. Old Nan told her she would bleed. To see it was an entirely different thing.

Her insides ached as Jon disposed of the rags. She was afraid to move her legs so she kept still on her back while he extinguished all of the tapers and crawled into bed, rearranging the covers around them as before. The pale moonlight shone through the tiny guest window. He laid on his back, tentatively reaching for her hand. She calmly accepted it.

"Are you all right, Sansa?" He turned his head to look at her as he asked her again and she blushed, grateful for the darkness.

"Yes, Jon."

"It will be better next time, I promise you. There will be no pain, only pleasure. I will make it so."

Sansa made no reply. Her wedding night turned out to be nothing of her silly dreams of her handsome prince sweeping her off her feet to experience some perfect overwhelming passionate love. Yet Jon tried his best to be careful and for that she was grateful. She was not so naive to know that many women were not as lucky as her or Jeyne, to have good men caring about their first time. As painful and uncomfortable as it was she could not imagine a cruel or selfish husband making it far worse.

A small thread of tenderness overwhelmed her as she brought Jon's hand up to her lips. She kissed it almost reverently before rubbing it up against her cheek. He cupped her in response and sighed. Without words she tried to reassure him by moving to her side to snuggle up against his chest. His heart was beating fast as he looped an arm around her to hold her in place. It was a comforting feeling and it almost made Sansa relax, until she reached her hand to burrow into chest hair and found none there.

Disappointed, she closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

 

**********************************

 

"Really, Robb, can you not do _something_ about this?"

Jeyne's voice was full of annoyance as she swatted at Grey Wolf, who was romping with Lady on their bed. When they weren't pouncing each other they pawed and teethed into the coverlet, pulling threads and ruining the dark grey damask. Through their play they growled and yipped. Their noise echoed in their chambers and Jeyne was losing patience while Robb watched them with amusement, shrouded in the semi-darkness.

"My dear, they are still pups. Full of energy. They will quiet down soon enough when they are spent." He motioned to the makeshift bed in the corner of their room. "Grey Wind knows where to sleep." 

"No, he doesn't. Don't you think I know you've been scooping him up and placing him at the foot of the bed when I fall asleep? And why is Lady in here? She is Sansa's dog, not ours."

Robb fell silent at the mention of Sansa's name. It was just Jeyne's usual resentment behind closed doors showing itself but his own guilty conscience that made him hold his tongue. Usually when Jeyne started in about Sansa he would defend her but he was afraid he would betray himself in some way over what had happened so saying nothing was his best defense. In response, Jeyne bolted from the bed to swipe up the gamboling wolf pups and deposit them in their dog bed. She padded back over, pausing to blow out the two small candles by the bed that had kept a little light in the room, and slipped under the covers, flinging her plaited brown hair over her shoulder. He could still see her in the moonlight shining through the windows.

"Problem solved, other than the noise."

"Are you sure all that reaching and bending is fine?" Robb reached out to touch her belly."I don't want to take any chances, you know."

"You would be surprised what I've done when you were not around." She managed a small smile on her thin, tired lips while she nestled down into the sheets. "You worry too much."

"Aye, I do. You have another heir to Winterfell in your belly."

"Perhaps Sansa will have an heir in her belly after tonight as well."

"Perhaps." Robb heard the teasing in her voice but cringed. He did not want to imagine his sister being deflowered. What brother would be able to stomach that? Sometimes Jeyne's ribald sense of humor shocked him. For such a sedate and formal lady, she was almost as bawdy as King Henry's fool. Only in the privacy of their bed though.

"How much did you drink tonight, dear husband?" Jeyne wrinkled her nose. "I do not think I've ever smelled you reeking of wine and malmsey like this before."

"Enough to have this room pleasantly spinning." Not enough to blacken him out. Not enough to erase his memory. Not enough to prevent from thinking of Sansa and Jon in their marriage bed. _Not enough._ "It is why I retired early with you, my dear."

"I wished I could have danced a measure with you. It pained me to already have to pass you over to your sister."

"There will be plenty of time for dancing when we celebrate the birth of another Stark. Who knows, perhaps this time next year we will be having to celebrate the King's new marriage." He was trying to redirect the conversation away from Sansa. 

"What His Grace is doing to the Queen is disgraceful," Jeyne declared, bold in the privacy of their bedroom. "I would not celebrate the true Queen being cast aside for an upstart King's whore."

"She is not the King's mistress," Robb said flatly. "She wants to be Queen or nothing."

"I don't like you tending court so much as of late. It's too dangerous. If the Boleyns caught wind of our sympathies for the Queen's cause -"

"I have pledged support to the Crown, Jeyne. And the Boleyns have already made so many enemies. Anne has her small faction and the King, which as long as she has the King's love, it is all she needs to achieve her goal. She is already making mistakes. If the King falls out of love with her, there are so many powerful men ready to pounce. The Duke of Suffolk, for example, and her own uncle the Duke of Norfolk. She might have brought Wolsey down but that was a common goal with even her enemies backing it."

"They say Cardinal Wolsey is too sick to be brought to trial. Is that true?"

"He is no longer the Cardinal, Jeyne, and yes." 

"You do know that Jon is an avid supporter of the Boleyns and the Protestant cause, correct? Yet you still agreed to this marriage. If you say the Boleyns are hanging on a thread, then Jon would be as well."

"Jon has not been to court since he was a boy."

"If the Boleyns sense a change in the wind, they might call on all of the supporters they can. They know Jon would rally to their cause. He is not as cautious as you, Robb."

"Only because his father was impetuous. My father was careful. Besides, I have faith in Sansa. Perhaps her influence as his wife will temper any court intrigue he might run into."

"Yes. She is very beautiful. She could work her womanly charms on Jon I am sure. Women like her are adept at using what they have to charm men. Much like Anne Boleyn bewitching the King."

Back to Sansa again. Sansa, who looked as beautiful as an angel in her wedding gown. She was ethereal, luminous, pale with her auburn hair flowing down her back. Sansa, who glanced over at him before saying her vows with panic in her beautiful blue eyes. Even then he would have ordered the wedding stopped if she had desired it. Some part of him wished she would have asked him to. Sansa was Jon's wife now. Jon's. It was what he wanted, it was what she wanted, was it not? Jon looked at Sansa with adoration and respect. Even if it was not a great love match, they would at least have that much. He should have been happy with the union yet he was not. Was she? Was she truly happy with her decision?

" _If I said no, I could have stayed here with you. If not for Jeyne, I would have said no_." 

Her words came back to him. If not for Jeyne she would have refused to become Jon's wife. Anyone's wife. Why? What did Jeyne have to do with anything? His head was muddled with drink. He needed to sleep it off.

"Anne Boleyn is not a witch, Jeyne. King Henry is a man in love, that is all."

He had no doubt Jon would fall in love with Sansa. Love her more than a cousin. Maybe Sansa would fall in love with Jon as well. Jon was handsome. What he lacked in courtly graces he made up in kindness and understanding. Sansa would be well taken care of. And who could not help but fall in love with Sansa? It wasn't just her beauty or her grace. It was the way she cared for others, and her intelligence under her dreamy facade.

"Men in love are strange creatures, I think."

There was a tone of reproach in her voice but Robb was numb to it. He cared for Jeyne. She knew he had affection for her and she knew he had not taken any other woman to bed since he married her. It mattered little anymore that it was an arranged marriage but for some reason Jeyne had a resentment towards their life together that Robb could not understand. He was a loving husband. He made sure her needs were met in bed and out of it. He was faithful and respected her choices as Lady of Winterfell. He adored their children and tried to be a good father, where most men would regulate all duties to the mother. Yet something lingered with Jeyne that kept her from being completely satisfied. Was it because theirs was not an all-consuming passionate love? Did any marriage ever have that? He supposed Henry Tudor was experiencing a passionate, consuming love for Anne Boleyn, something he never had with the dutiful Queen Catherine. So maybe some people...

"Robb?"

"Um. Yes?"

"I asked if you would kiss me goodnight. I am tired and have had enough of our conversation."

"Of course my dear. You need your rest as do I. Jon and Sansa will be leaving early tomorrow for Dragonstone and we will need to see them off. If you plead sickness tomorrow, everyone will be suspicious."

"I think it is safe to reveal it now. After all, Sansa is married and will be gone from Winterfell tomorrow." 

Robb snatched his hand away from her stomach at her harsh tone. It wasn't just the bitterness in her voice but the realization Sansa was leaving home. It would be like it was when he left to marry Jeyne nearly four years ago. Almost. Rather, it would be far worse. He didn't want to think about it. He just wanted to slip into a merciful sleep.

"Goodnight, Jeyne." He leaned over to give her a customary peck on the lips but she reached out and pulled him in, her lips smashing into his. 

A sinking feeling formed in his stomach and he fought back the urge to push away from her and roll over to his side to sleep.

He should have stopped when her lips met his. He had tried to resist, to pull away from her but her mouth on his felt too sweet, too good. They were matched, their lips touching in perfect unison. He couldn't help but take the lead and demand more of her even though it was a sin, it was wrong. Even more wrong when he felt his cock harden even as he prayed to God for his body to remain dormant and dead to desire. All he knew was her hands cupping his face made his skin tingle and his mind begged for her hands to caress him elsewhere. Shameful, how he accepted her tongue with his, even more shameful to touch her face and bring her in again and again for kiss after kiss. He was her older brother. He should have stopped it but he didn't want to. She tried to pull him to her and he realized how hard he was and feared her knowing. She would have been horrified. A newly married woman had been before him, married to his beloved cousin and all he wanted was to push her down on the bed and snake a hand up her skirts. His own sister. His own loving, trusting sister. He had shoved away from her to stop his desires and she had fled, no doubt sickened by what they did. He could not face her. It was all just a mistake. A slip. A drunken, careless thing but he wasn't even that drunk, not really. He could not excuse it and he could not return to the hall and act as if nothing happened.

"Robb."

It was dark. In the stillness his mind reeled. The pups had fallen asleep and the castle was quiet. Only the sounds of their gasped breathing filled the night. He kissed her long and deep while moving to thread his hands in her hair, his eyes closed. He didn't know how it came about, the discarding of nightclothes and undergarments but they were naked, his hand smoothing down between her legs so he could palm her sex. His lips found her neck. _She always had such a long, graceful neck and he wondered now what it might feel like against his mouth_. Insistently, his fingers dipped inside her easily.

"I want you." He was almost begging. "Please."

"We- we shouldn't. There's too much danger -"

"We should." His head bent to take in a hardened nipple."We should. It's worth the risk, it's worth it, just to be inside you. Just this once. Just this once." To entice and convince, he expertly started fingering her and felt a surge of wetness. "You want this as well. I can feel how much you want this."

She did want him. It was so easy to slide inside, her legs and arms wrapped around him, her short pants of surprise filling his ears as he rode her furiously, his hand reaching down to help her to her orgasm. She came with a small, high-pitched squeak and he followed, kissing her to silence her voice. 

"Jeyne." He muttered it in a sigh. 

"You taste like malmsey." He heard her giggle. She was satisfied.

Robb felt hollow.

Empty.

And thankful he no longer tasted like his sister's sweet lips.


	5. Chapter 5

The sun had only begun to peek through the forest surrounding Winterfell Castle as Robb made his way out to the gardens. Only the kitchens emitted any noise; the rest of occupants of the castle were still fast asleep. The only sounds through the corridors were his soft footsteps and the light padding of Lady and Grey Wind. He supposed they both needed to go out, as they had spent all night in his rooms. Sneaky Grey Wind had jumped up onto the bed after Jeyne slipped into a deep slumber, nestling around Robb's feet, and Lady followed her brother. The dainty wolf-hybrid pup curled in close to her littermate and sighed. A sleepless Robb noted how much Lady acted like her new mistress, and a pang of guilt struck him as he realized Lady would not have Grey Wind as a companion anymore. 

He was surprised to find Sansa by the pond, sitting cross-legged, her hair unkempt around her. The slight light from the slowly emerging sun caught the long, tousled strands, creating a seemingly glowing outline of fire. She wore her cotton shift underneath an untied wrapper, and she was fiddling with something in her lap. When he sauntered closer he spotted what it was. Bloody crane's-bill flowers, picked at the root. Her slender, pale fingers were attempting to knot them together at their stems.

Grey Wind made their presence known by a deep greeting bark and Lady sprinted over to her. Sansa looked up with a small smile and stroked Lady's head, but when she met his eyes she flitted hers back to her lap. He could see her graceful neck tighten.

Robb's heart ached. He was trying to take her in, trying to understand why she was out here and not still with Jon in their bed. He recalled the morning after his wedding night with Jeyne. She had stirred first, awakening him with her movements. It had felt strange to wake up to a wife but they had coupled again before they broke their fast. Had that only been four years ago? He had been so young, so self-assurred. Jeyne had been a giggling, glowing woman that morning before she transposed into the sedate, proper lady at their breakfast table. It seemed only when she was in his arms did she lose her sense of propriety, and it amused and flattered Robb at the same time. When it came to lovemaking she was rather crude in her tastes, but what she lacked in sensuality she made up for in enthusiasm.

"Sansa." Her name rolled breathy, husky off his lips. She said nothing, only nodded, continuing with her task. His chest constricted tightly and he tried again. "Sansa, why are you up so early?"

"I could ask you the very same thing, brother, but I think Grey Wind and Lady are the answer to that." Lady sniffed at her flowers before ambling off to follow Grey Wind. 

"Yes, they needed time outside." He could not tell her that he laid in bed after Jeyne fell asleep, willing slumber to take him and his wish left ungranted. Even with as much drink as he had in him, and his release with Jeyne, it was not enough to combat against his emotions and he had not one wink of sleep. His mind tortured him, teased him, taunted him and not even the warmth of his wife or Grey Wind's fur cuddled up next to him had helped.

Sansa bit her lip as Robb walked closer to sit at her side, a respectful distance away, facing the castle. He noticed her hands trembled a little as she worked and he knew she was nervous. No doubt it was over their kiss and he meant to speak with her about it before she left for Dragonstone, hoping for a moment alone with his sister in the chaos of her leaving. This was better, more private; if anyone was roused and made their way outside they had plenty of warning to change the conversation before they could be heard. It hurt him when she scooted away from him a little, her head bowed so he could not see her expression and he knew he was the cause of her discomfort. Or was it her wedding night? If Jon had hurt her in any way -

"Sansa -" He wasn't sure how to begin.

"You know, I was thinking of all the times I used to come out here with you, and Bran, and Rickon. Remembering how you and the boys made me little flower crowns to wear and how mother and father would admonish us but at the same time smile behind their scolding. So many memories of our family here. Happy times, loving times."

"Yes, they were, Sansa. We all miss them." His heart hurt at her wistful tone. Their beloved family. Their good, honorable father and strong, determined mother. Serious, intellectual Bran and fiesty, needy Rickon. Gone. Gone too soon. 

"When Jon and I have our first boy, I would like to name him Rickon or Bran. Keep the tradition going, since you have little Eddard. Or Catelyn for a girl, if you and Jeyne have another boy this time. If you have a girl first, I would not mind you naming her Cat. I want our memories to live on in our own children."

"That sounds beautiful, Sansa. I would have named Henry Bran instead but Jeyne was insistent on being fashionable and there is no better homage to Henry VIII than to name your child after him." She made no reply to this so he tried to engage her again. "The only ones up so early are the cooks. I've asked them to make a fresh lemon cake for your travels, Sansa. It should keep fairly well at least for the first day. I thought maybe a sweet treat would break up the monotony of the journey and give you a comfort of home."

"Thank you, Robb. It's very thoughtful of you."

"You are welcome, sister. It is not much, but I -"

Robb's words broke off as he watched in horror as Sansa started to cry, her hands darting up to hide her face while her shoulders slumped. Instantly he moved over to her, disregarding her self-imposed distance, and gathered her in his arms. She struggled even as she laid her head against his chest. He let her cry, waiting patiently for her to speak first, afraid that whatever he said would be the wrong thing. He did not want to assume he knew the reason for her weeping. Surely she would not be crying over a few illicit kisses. Was it because she was leaving Winterfell? Or was it Jon? His body tensed as he wondered if perhaps Jon was not a gentleman with her last night. He tried so hard to not to linger on Sansa's deflowering but it poisoned his thoughts. His only consolation had been that he knew Jon; he wasn't the most suave of men but he was sure he would be a patient husband, in and out of the bedroom. What if something happened? He felt Sansa pull away and he knew she had felt him tense up. 

"I know you are repulsed by me now. You need not touch me any more." She rose to her feet gracefully, the flowers scattering everywhere. "I am sorry. i just miss our family. It will be hard to make my new one in a place that is not Winterfell."

"It will be hard to have you gone. We will all miss you. Sansa - why would you ever think I am repulsed by you? I love you. You should know that -" He reached out for her and she stepped back, stumbling. "Sansa, you are my love, my heart. You know I could never -"

"You cannot even hold me now in solace, after what I did." Her face crumpled and she clutched her wrapper to her. "Perhaps it is good that I am leaving. Perhaps it is best I am married and now bound to another man's bed. We are children no longer."

"Sansa, you are my beloved sister. You did nothing wrong. What wrong is there? We had too much of the drink, it went to our heads. It was just the wine and the excitement of the wedding, that is all. It was nothing -" And just who was he trying to convince?

"Nothing?" Her whisper cracked and the sun was prominent enough now so he could see the expression on her face. Her eyes shone oddly, and there were dark circles under them. She had not slept, nether, and Robb knew now that it was not because of Jon. "Nothing is what I felt with Jon last night -" she burst into fresh tears.

"Sansa? Please, my dearest, please do not cry. Please -" He reached out and moved in supplication but she sidestepped him, her hands warding him off. 

"You sold me! You sold me to our cousin like some whore. Why? Did you know? Did you know what I was before I did? Were you so disgusted with me that you couldn't wait for me to leave Winterfell?"

"I have given you a year to deny this match. You reassured me all along this is what you wanted. Even at the very last I would have called off the marriage had you willed it." Her accusations stung him but he tried to maintain a leveled tone. "I could have forced you to marry someone not worthy of you. Lord Bolton's son is of a mind to marry, would you rather have him? I heard he is sadistic and cruel to women. What about Lord Frey? An ancient, lecherous old man with no sense of decency. It is the duty of all of us to marry. Yet had you told me no I would have kept you a maiden here at Winterfell. Or let you enter a convent. You are the one who always said you wanted a Prince and children of your own, that you wanted to be mistress of a great house someday. Forgive me for thinking this was acceptable to you."

"How could you do it?" Her voice lowered, whispered, her eyes downcast but tears still trickling from them. "Tell me, how could you do it, Robb? Now I belong to another man. Now I am made to leave the only home I have ever known."

"Winterfell will always be your home, Sansa." Her spoken words suddenly struck him and he nearly came to tears as he acknowledged what she meant. "You never belonged to me. And you never will. You cannot."

She burst out crying again at that and this time Robb showed no trepidation as he rushed to hold her, his lips finding the top of her head. Her muffled sobs into his chest unmanned him and he felt his own tears. He knew he should reassure her, tell her some words of older brotherly wisdom, but he could not. There were no words. With two short sentences he brought out into the open what they both were feeling, had always felt, and effectively closed the door at the same time. And it hurt.

"You're sending me away. You're sending me away from you. You want me as far away as I can be. That is why you chose Jon. Dragonstone in Dorset is as far away from here as it can be."

"No, Sansa, no." he muttered into her hair. It smelled like roses. "Ah, please. That is not why." Did he speak true? 

"Do you h - hate me now? After what I did?" She sniffled. "I could not bear it if you hated me, Robb. I cannot say I am sorry. Please do not hate me."

He moved his lips away to lean down to her, tilting her chin up so he could look at her. Even with her red-rimmed eyes, dark circles, and tear streaks on her cheeks, she was still so beautiful; the most beautiful girl - no, woman - he had ever seen. Her lips pursed and shook as she searched his face. For what she was seeking, he did not know; he only wished fervently she would find it.

"I can never hate you, Sansa. I love you. More than anyone, or anything. What happened was -" He paused. 

"An abomination? A slight against God and the laws of man?" She offered, starting to cry again while grasping the back of his neck. Both of his hands cupped her cheeks, wiping the tears away. The pain of her words took his breath away.

"No, Sansa." He managed a small smile. "Love." 

It was enough for her to stop her tears and offer up a twisted grin and a little bit of a relieved laugh that was so delicate Robb barely heard it. He felt her relax against him and he was grateful for it as her eyes brightened.

"I will miss you, brother."

"And I you. There will be opportunities for visits. You will not be alone at Dragonstone. You will have time to make your household. Come to know Jon better. Before you know it there will be babes to care for, and then you will be so busy being a mother you will forget about your brother in Winterfell."

"Never." One of her cool, smooth hands left his neck to caress his beard. "I will miss you terribly."

He leaned into her touch. It felt like fire and comfort. It felt like home and he closed his eyes for just a moment. He would not be able to see her, hear her, feel her again for months at the very least. He remembered the first two years of his marriage, when he only visited Winterfell three times, prolonging his stays as long as he had dared. It seemed it would be that way again, only now it was permanent and she would be even further away. Still, she had her life to live and he had his. This was the way it must be.

"You will write? Keep me informed of all that is happening? Especially when I am made an uncle?" It was meant to be jocular but she smiled sadly up at him.

"I will write you so much I will constantly be running out of inks and parchments."

Robb smiled, leaning in to touch foreheads. Her breath, warm and sweet, hitched. Perhaps it was just as well that they said their informal goodbyes out here where they were afforded some privacy. Hopefully it would make it easier for them to say goodbye in front of the entire household. He was all too aware of her pressing against him as he brushed his face to the side to chastely kiss her cheek. She moved inward at the last second and he kissed the corner of her mouth where it dimpled. Undaunted, he parted his lips to kiss the slackened corner again, so near to kissing her completely but still so far away. He heard her whimper as her body became slack.

"Sansa." His lips moved back to her cheek where it was acceptable to kiss her, but she feebly turned her head away, pushing him from her.  
"The sun is up, Robb. Everyone should be stirring." There was sorrow, longing in her voice. "Jon is no doubt wondering where I am." 

She turned to take her leave of him but he reached for her hand. How many times had he held her spindly hands in his? Too many too count. This time he swiftly raised it to his lips for a kiss.

"Lead the way, Lady Targaryen of Dragonstone." He could feel her skin pulsing just beneath the surface and her mouth trembled.

"I would rather be called Lady Stark of Winterfell."

Sansa yanked her hand away and tightened her wrapper, fumbling with the ties, her glorious hair spilling down in front of her. She turned with her back to him, and started to amble back to the castle, calling for Lady. Robb watched her leave, her wolf pup following close on her heels. He noticed her uneven steps and the nervous twirling of a lock of her hair while his heart beat in aching time to her footsteps on the cobblestone path.


	6. Chapter 6

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk_.

Arya glanced over at the source of the noise and frowned before slamming the piece of parchment she had been reading down onto the rickety desk.

"Are you serious about learning to write or not?" 

The only reply she received was another thunk against the crudely built wall. This time the well-crafted knife stunk there and held. Gendry leaned back into makeshift cushions of blanketed straw, his long legs crossed carelessly, arms crossing above his head. He grinned and raised his dark eyebrows at her as his large hands mussed his coal black hair. He was too handsome for his own good, and lucky for her he did not realize the opportunities his looks could reward him with.

"Why bother? I am really only learning to please you, Milady." A small snicker from him followed. No doubt he thought himself clever for the comment.

"Aye, of course you are. Yet I don't seem pleased now." Arya looked down at the paper. Gendry was doing fairly well, able now to write short sentences and sign his name. He was still not as adept as she would have liked him to be by now and she had been working with him on it for a year. "Instead you tinker around with those knives and swords you make."

"You don't seem to care with my tinkering as long as I let you practice on them." 

Gendry had her there. She appreciated not just the blacksmith's company but his swords and daggers as well. He was an excellent craftsman but never seemed too motivated to move out from under Tobho Mott's stern employment, and move away from this drafty backroom of the smithy where he lived when he was not working. She knew why. Gendry's heart did not lie in here in this village town. His desire was for the sea. Arya admitted the prospect of seafaring intrigued her. She was adventurous by nature. She could no sooner see herself married to a Lord and squeezing out children than she could see her sister Sansa swashbuckling on a ship.

Gendry had just informed her that Asha Greyjoy was due to make land on the North sea coast, only a few hours' ride from Winterfell, and he wanted to join her ship. Arya knew very little about the woman, except that she had been born into nobility, shunning the family for a life of piracy at sea while dressing like a man. It was whispered she owned independent lands in both Ireland and Scotland and apprenticed under Old William Hawkins and even sailed with him to Brazil. She commandeered her own ship, the Sea Witch, and it was whispered she was feared among men as well as revered. Henry VIII, it was rumored, had already set a bounty on her head for piracy and thievery, crimes against the crown. Arya already admired her and when she slipped away from Winterfell this morning, she wore some of Robb's old clothes, stashed away in a forgotten chest. She felt more free in a pair of breeches and a tunic than she ever did in her constrictive Lady's clothes, and it made her want to live a life abroad as well. Gendry knew Asha from when she would frequent the taverns and she had also bought a sword he had forged. She had been so impressed with her new weapon she invited Gendry to join her.

Even more tempting to leave with Gendry was the fact that she was fifteen now, old enough to be betrothed. Jeyne had been bringing it up quite a bit lately and to Arya it seemed like thinly veiled threats. She and Jeyne never seemed to get along even though Arya tried for Robb's sake, and the sake of her nephews, but since the recent birth of her third nephew, Bran, Jeyne had become even more haughty and a paragon of ladylike deportment. Arya loved Eddard, Henry and now infant Bran, and she loved Robb, but it was not enough to want her to linger in Winterfell to be rushed off into a loveless, dull marriage. Robb admittedly indulged her. He knew she took off in the middle of the night, knew she visited the local village more than she should. She knew he and Jeyne argued about her actions and also knew that as lady of the house, Jeyne could make Robb see things her way. Arya kept her thoughts to herself about her brother and sister-in-law's married life, but she was of the very strong opinion they should no longer lie together as man and wife.Three boys were enough. Robb should just not touch the woman any more. Besides, Arya knew Robb was not completely happy with his wife and had to sense no one else around was happy with her, either. Jeyne just could not capture hearts the way her older sister has.

Sansa has been in Dragonstone now for half a year. Her sister corresponded as quickly as possible but a visit had not yet materialized. Each time a letter arrived, Jeyne was quick to try to snatch it up and read it, even though Arya knew damn good and well it was addressed to Robb. The times where Robb received it first and Jeyne would sit in her sewing chair with a look on her face as if she just had a bout of her pregnancy sickness. Arya knew Jeyne disliked Sansa but she would think that her sister-in-law could afford to be more charitable since her competition for the hearts - one, rather, one heart - of Winterfell was gone.

She missed her sister; missed her quiet sweetness and her nit-picking. She even missed the quarrels and the exasperation. Oddly, most of all she missed the sparkle in her brother's eyes and the happiness gracing his smile. He was proud of his new son and doted on his family, but Arya was sharp to know Robb was something near to unhappy. He had even gone to Court to call on the King even though the political climate was even more volatile than ever. The King was now named the “singular protector, supreme lord, and even, so far as the law of Christ allows, supreme head of the English church and clergy" by the Convocation, with convincing from George Boleyn, Anne Boleyn's dear brother. With Wolsey now dead, Henry's ear and council was solely in the Boleyn faction's hands. Arya was politically savvy enough to understand it was now only a matter of time before the Queen was divorced and Anne would take her place. Trading a Catholic Queen for one who was interested in the Reformation did not bode well for the Starks, no matter how much Robb droned on about how his loyalty was to the Crown. Jon, other other hand, had sparked interest among the Boleyn supporters. Of course it did. Jon's family name and noble blood dated back for centuries, while the Boleyns were nothing more than upstarts making a name for themselves. They naturally flocked to old and powerful names and it didn't hurt that Jon was handsome and young and wealthy to boot.

Arya wondered how Sansa was faring down south in those wet, gloomy lands of Dragonstone. There so far was no announcement of a pregnancy and Arya was not much surprised. Sansa was probably lucky to be bedded monthly with someone like Jon as her husband. Not that she disliked Jon; quite the contrary. She and Jon always had a sibling compatibility and ease, and for all of Jon's lack of understanding women, he could swing a sword and hunt, and was also an intellectual with a heart of gold. He was forthright and honest and always spoke what he felt. Maybe Sansa is finding him a good husband but she could not imagine Sansa loving the castle or the environment, or the fact she was so far away from Robb.

Arya was not oblivious to Robb's untoward affection with Sansa. It was distinctively different than how she was treated and she knew Robb and Sansa had always been close. She assumed it was because they were the two eldest Starks, close in age and in looks. They both took after Mother, while she and Bran took after Father, with Rickon somewhere in the middle. Arya had always envied their looks and their ability to make everyone adore them. Her envy faded, however, on the day Sansa became Jon's wife, and the feeling was replaced by pity and something of understanding, even if she wasn't ready to acknowledge it.

Arya's eyes once again left the paper to survey Gendry, still lounging on the sacks of straw, a grin plastered on his handsome face as he stared up at her. Damn him and his smile, his blue eyes and tanned skin. 

"Well, what?" annoyed, she threw her quill at him. "Quit looking at me like that."

"You are lovely when you're grouchy," he laughed good-naturedly. "So have you given any more thought? To becoming my pirate wench?"

"A wench? Just a moment ago you called me your lady."

"Aye. Maybe you could be both. Lady in my heart but wench on the ship and in the sheets." 

His smirk was too much as she pushed back her chair and pounced on him, writing temporarily forgotten. She pushed her long, dark hair out of her face.

"Ah, and what makes you think I would be yours? Asha Greyjoy, from what you say, might appeal to me more. A woman's body with a man's heart and appetites? Best of both worlds." She loved to tease him."I should take offense at you calling me a lady, and a wench."

Gendry's eyes twinkled up at her as his hands reached up to grasp her hips to push her down onto his lap. Through both their breeches she could feel him hard as steel and just as reassuring. She had started pleasuring herself with him a couple of months ago, making him chase her down and catch her before she let him break her maidenhead as his winning prize. Even then she pushed him out after a few strokes. She did not want to get a babe from him (or any man). Considering how fertile her family seemed, she was taking no chances. Since then Gendry has learned great control and spilled only outside of her. She found his tongue and fingers there even more thrilling even though she did not say it. Truly, she had no intention of waiting for a wedding night to enjoy what her body wanted to enjoy and Gendry was a most willing and handsome partner, even if sometimes he infuriated her on purpose.

"Methinks you like being called a wench more than a lady." Gendry's hands clumsily untied her already loose breeches, his hands pushing down on the fabric to wriggle his way in. It took him no time to find her most sensitive spot, his fingers spreading and teasing. "And I would not mind you giving Asha a go, as long as I could be privy to the sight."

Arya sighed. It wouldn't take long for her to reach her peak. It never took long. Gendry might not read or write well but he knew how to give her multiple climaxes. To Arya, that was better than being a Lord of any castle.

"Mmm. You seem to like me in breeches. Maybe it is you who needs a pirate mate?' She squeaked a laugh as a hand jerked out and smacked her square on her arse.

"I have me one here. Arry the Pirate." Gendry leaned up then, clutching her left buttock as his other hand still worked her, his face burying into her waiting neck. "Besides, if you want to see your sister, what better way than by ship? Join me and we can have Asha set sail for Dorset."

"A pirate ship in Dorset?" She tried to concentrate. "With the ports protected by King?"

"Asha is not only brave, she is rich." Gendry muttered into her neck, licking. "Any man can be bought."

"Even you?" 

"Are you offering?"

"I don't need to buy you, you stupid bull." She started moving her hips, her breath starting to hitch.

"True. So, come with me. There is nothing for you at home except to wait for your brother to marry you off to some sour Lord. Come with me."

"I am." She giggled. "Can't you feel it?"

"I am serious." Gendry's lips found hers as his fingers delved deeper. "I hear she is making port soon."

Arya rode out her wave of ecstasy and orgasmed quietly, whimpering out her release. Through her dissipating pleasure she saw two paths to take. One, submitting herself to an arranged marriage where love had no home, where her husband could either be docile or cruel, whatever he deemed fit; she would see her family rarely, if at all. Or, she could leave everything behind now and embark on a dangerous but exciting adventure into the unknown, with people she felt more an affinity to than her own kin. She thought again of Sansa and how she looked on her wedding day: beautiful, perfect, not a hair out of place but with a resigned look in her eyes. Sansa always wanted a husband and babies but Arya suspected Sansa was living a lie, a lie she would have yoked around her neck for her whole life. Did Arya want to be sentenced to that as well? She had a chance, now, to dare to be someone different...to be free.

She hadn't even noticed Gendry had withdrawn his hand and tied her breeches back up. before reclining back into the straw, a smirk and satisfied look on his face. He knew he had her. All she had to do was say it.

"If you promise me we can stop at Dragonstone to see my sister first, I will come with you," she stated simply. "Of course if I meet this Asha and do not like her, I'll take my chances with some dour Lord."

"Agreed." Gendry reached up to pull her down to him, his well-muscled arms embracing her tight. "Just as long as you don't throw me overboard when you tire of me."

"Not throw you overboard? I make no promises." To take the sting out of her words, she tilted her head to kiss him. His lips were like the rest of him; strong and solid.

Arya sighed against him. She was already thinking of what to write to Robb in a goodbye letter even as Gendry reached up to run fingers through her hair. She loved Robb, but not enough to be sold into marriage. Not enough to die inside for the rest of her life. Robb would understand. Everyone else could just go to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have closed this fic as I have no desire to continue. I wasn't happy with Jon in this or his role.  
> The just of the fic was to have the King take a romantic interest in Sansa and appoint her as one of Anne Boleyn's attendants. At the same time, Jon guesses he is unable to father children, and in a desperate attempt for an heir that still has family blood, he makes the proposal that Robb father Sansa's children instead. This only adds fuel to the fire that is the love between Robb and Sansa. Sansa bears 2 girls before she finally has the son Jon craves.   
> In the meantime, Henry VIII's jealousy and obsession over Sansa's refusals culminate in sending Jon on foreign missions as to make him an absentee and therefore hoping Sansa is easier prey.  
> Jon ends up in Ireland, where Arya and Gendry have sailed to. Although they are involved in piracy, Jon joins them in their exploits.   
> Eventually, many years later, Sansa and Robb are arrested and accused of incest. The King by now is in his reign of terror and cruelty and madness. Robb manages to take the blame and Sansa is set free but is banished to Dragonstone for life.  
> Jon, thinking he is to blame for the incest and Robb's impending execution, enlists Arya to help him in planning Robb's escape. They succeed, but Jon is mortally wounded. He orders Robb, Sansa, and their children to flee to Ireland. They do so, with help from Gendry and Arya.  
> After Henry VIII dies, and his son Edward dies, Mary I offers a pardon, remembering the kindness Robb had shown her and her mother even when they were out of favor. However, Robb, Sansa, and their children settle into rural Ireland, making it their home and raising their kids in peace.
> 
> I brought this back only because it was requested. Thank you!


End file.
